


head versus heart

by dizzywhiz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hospitals, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzywhiz/pseuds/dizzywhiz
Summary: Blaine gets hit by a taxi and ends up in the hospital - so naturally, as his best friend and long-standing roommate, Kurt visits him at every possible opportunity until he gets to come home.It only takes a couple of visits before Kurt notices something impossibly endearing: the beeping of Blaine's heart rate monitor speeds up whenever his friends come to visit. At least, Kurt assumes it happens with all of Blaine's friends, until Sam has no idea what he's talking about.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 26
Kudos: 172





	head versus heart

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> so this fic idea has been in the back of my mind/in the works for literally months - I think since june or july. it's inspired by a viral reddit post I saw going around at the time, where the poster is wondering why her roommate's heart rate speeds up whenever she visits in the hospital after an accident. if I can find it, I'll come back and link it.
> 
> anyways, for some reason, it's shoved itself into the forefront in the past few days, and I knew I needed to wrap it up and get it finished before I could go back to things like my WIPs. so, here you go! would love to know what you think!

Three missed calls.

Three voicemails.

Seven missed text messages.

Kurt’s still sweaty and panting when he digs his phone out of his messenger bag and checks it after his dance class lets out, but once he sees his notifications, he starts shaking, too.

Because every last one of them is from Sam.

And Sam doesn’t really _text_ Kurt - they’re friends, but not like that, not enough to talk on their own much at all, not without Blaine as the common thread, because Blaine-

_Blaine._

It has to be Blaine, whatever Sam is texting him about, and it has to be something _wrong_ with Blaine, because Sam _knows_ Kurt’s in class, and Sam should be at work, too, anyways, and if Blaine _were_ fine, then some of those missed texts would be from him, because that’s what Kurt and Blaine do.

They text each other - all the time. Because they’re best friends.

But these texts aren’t _from_ Blaine, and neither are the missed calls, and neither are the voicemails.

They’re from Sam, and Kurt realizes he isn’t breathing as he thumbs over his screen to open the texts first, but he doesn’t have any breath left, anyways, feels like his heart isn’t even beating.

The words blur together, and Kurt isn’t sure if it’s tears clouding his vision or his anxiety or the way Sam types, but it’s all a jumbled mess, and so Kurt blinks, and he tries and fails to breath in and out, and then a few words _do_ jump out at him, but they- they don’t help.

_Blaine. Accident. Taxi. Hospital._

_BlaineAccidentTaxiHospitalBlaineAccidentTaxiHospitalBlaineAccidentTaxiHospital-_

His phone rings again, right in his hands, and he jumps out of his skin, and then he answers with a shaky _hello._

 _“Finally-_ Dude, I’ve been trying to get you. Blaine was- He’ll be fine, but he was crossing the street and he got hit by a taxi, and I-”

“What hospital?” Kurt breaks in, question coming out harsh. He doesn’t care about the details, doesn’t care how they got ahold of Sam first, doesn’t care about _what_ happened, only cares about getting to Blaine, seeing Blaine, just- _Blaine._

For once, Sam actually listens, stops mid-sentence and tells him the name of the hospital, the room number, and it feels like everything Kurt needs to hear for the moment, enough to spur him into action and running out of the dance studio, at least.

But Sam’s still on the other line, and when he speaks again, Kurt realizes he still hadn’t breathed since he answered the phone, not until he hears Sam’s voice again.

“He’s gonna be fine, Kurt,” Sam says, more gentle and reassuring than Kurt’s ever heard him before. “He’ll be fine.”

And Kurt realizes that he had needed to hear that, too.

* * *

Kurt is no stranger to hospitals.

He’s spent more time than any one person should in hospitals, actually, sitting in uncomfortable chairs while he waits for news - about his mom first, and then his dad, and then his dad again, waiting, holding hands, waiting.

But this feels different, because car crashes - they’re unpredictable.

With his mom, the memories have mostly faded, but he does remember how slowly it had all happened, slow enough that he had almost started forgetting what his childhood was like _before_ his mom was in and out of the hospital for treatments and the rest of it.

With his dad, the first time, Kurt had known he’d had a heart attack, and he’d known he was in a coma, and he’d known he’d walk in and find his dad hooked up to machines, asleep, ironically peaceful.

And then the second time, with his cancer, Kurt wasn’t there for most of it, never actually saw his dad mid-treatment or anything else- he was only there for the results, for the news that his dad was okay again. 

He still isn’t sure how he feels about that, the fact that he wasn’t really there for the brunt of it.

But Kurt doesn’t know what he’s walking into now. 

Blaine could be any level of injured - from a broken arm to a brain injury, awake and talking or doped up on morphine or kept asleep, capable of making a full recovery or...not.

Kurt can’t brace himself for what he’s going to see, can’t mentally prepare because he doesn’t know what he’s preparing _for,_ other than some form of Blaine in a hospital bed.

He should have asked Sam, should have actually let him _talk,_ but he had been panicking.

And Kurt is _still_ panicking, actually - his hand is shaking when he hails a cab, painfully sick at the irony of riding in a taxi but without any other option, and his head is spinning the entire ride there, and he can’t help but pull out his phone again and find his last messages with Blaine and read them over and over like some sort of messed up coping mechanism, because even though Sam said Blaine is fine, Kurt has no proof of it yet, and what if these are their last messages, their last exchange, at least before everything could very well change in a major way?

It’s entirely inconsequential, the texts they shared. It’s a brief conversation from the day before, when Kurt had offered to pick up Thai food on his way home, and Blaine had replied with a goofy, excited gif of approval like he always does- did- does.

_Does._

_He’s gonna be fine, Kurt. He’ll be fine._

And Kurt hadn’t answered. He knows Blaine’s order at all of their favorite takeout places, and Blaine knows his, and that’s just it, really. They just _know_ each other.

But he should’ve answered. He should’ve said something.

He should’ve told him-

He focuses on that for the rest of the cab ride - the regret. Somehow it doesn’t matter that they met as randomly-assigned roommates their freshman year and managed to become best friends instead of killing each other in their closet of a dorm room. Somehow it doesn’t matter that they’ve lived together ever since, attached at the hip, inseparable. Somehow it doesn’t matter that Blaine is the best friend Kurt has ever had, and it doesn’t matter that Blaine’s told Kurt that the reverse is true more times than he can count.

It feels like the only thing that matters is that he left Blaine’s text unanswered.

And thinking about that - it’s easier than thinking about Blaine, hurt and lying in a hospital bed.

* * *

The cab is pulling up to the hospital when Kurt’s phone buzzes again, caught in the white-knuckled grip of his hand.

_Are you almost here? He’s asking for you._

Sam again.

It means a lot of things: that Blaine’s awake, that Blaine’s coherent, that Kurt is taking too long.

Most importantly, it means that Blaine wants him.

It’s enough of a relief to pull Kurt out of the cab, through the front doors, carry him through the confusing maze-like logistics of finding Blaine’s room, and then finally, _finally,_ pushing inside-

And there Blaine is, half-propped up and looking utterly pitiful, melted into the bed in his pale blue hospital gown, face covered in scrapes and bruises that are just beginning to purple, leg wrapped up in a bulky cast, wires and IVs and machines hooked up to him.

But he’s awake, and when he locks eyes with Kurt, he smiles, just a small, tired upward twitch of his lips but real all the same, and Kurt remembers how to breathe again.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Kurt says shakily, desperate for a pillar of lightness he can lean on to diffuse the whirlwind of feelings inside of him, relief and fear and regret and more fear and more relief and a strange, unsettling realization that he wishes he had been there to pull Blaine away, or to even be the one who was hit instead.

“You came,” is all Blaine says in reply, his voice rough and a little weak, twisting directly at Kurt’s heart.

“Of course I did,” Kurt breathes, feeling the tension begin to slowly seep out of him at the sound of Blaine’s voice again, like he’s unconsciously filing it away as something he hasn’t lost, as more evidence that he can begin to let his guard down. “I’m sorry I took so long, I was in that double-blocked dance class, and you know how Cassie-”

“Hey, I know. I get it.”

And of course Blaine knows, of course he gets it. They know each other’s schedules inside and out, from early mornings to late nights to when each of them is most likely to hole up in a practice room. Of course, Blaine’s had his own run-ins with Cassandra July, too, but his composition track doesn’t require much past introductory dance - something Kurt’s always envied.

Kurt wants to go sit beside Blaine, to fuss over him, figure out his injuries and his needs and take care of it, take care of _him,_ because all of his time spent in hospitals has shaped him into a caretaker, and he just- needs to do it. 

But his feet feel like they’re glued where he’s standing, right in the doorway, and he feels stuck just _looking_ at Blaine, taking him in, from his tired eyes to his ever-growing, curious smile.

“I’m gonna go get a soda or something,” Sam announces, getting up from the little couch in the corner, and Kurt jolts - he hadn’t realized Sam was there, hadn’t been aware of anything else in the room besides Blaine, really.

Sam gives Kurt a reassuring smile on his way out the door, paired with a solid clap on the shoulder, offering support in the best wordless way he can, and it’s enough to get Kurt moving. He feels silly for it, the way he was frozen, and he feels his cheeks flushing with heat as he finally crosses the room, sinking into the rigid plastic chair at Blaine’s bedside.

“Do you need anything?” he asks softly, wringing his hands in his lap. He feels awkward in a way he’s never felt around Blaine before, and he isn’t sure what to do about it, isn’t sure why. 

Blaine turns his head slowly, just enough to lazily lean his cheek against the pillow and look at Kurt briefly, giving him a reassuring smile.

“No, I’m okay,” he murmurs, though Kurt isn’t sure he believes him. “I’m just glad you’re here.” 

And maybe he feels awkward because Blaine is so _subdued,_ so faint and muted in a way Kurt’s never seen him. Even when he’s tired, stressed, drained, exhausted, Blaine’s always had the energy for _something,_ but now, once they go quiet, there’s no sound in the room but the air conditioner and the steady beat of Blaine’s heart monitor, and Blaine’s eyes flutter closed without another word.

For a moment, Kurt watches him, allows his eyes to map the pattern of scratches and scrapes and purples and yellows all over Blaine’s face, trails down to the tangle of wires and the cast - he’s a mess, really, and he _has_ to be in pain, or severely uncomfortable, at the very least. 

It’s like the only untouched, the only unaffected part of Blaine’s body that Kurt can see is his hand, resting open on the bed right by Kurt’s knee, relaxed and steady, and Kurt can’t help but reach for it and cover it with his own, needing a connection, proof that Blaine is really there and really okay. 

The beeping of his heart rate speeds up - just barely perceptible but enough for Kurt to wonder, enough for his eyes to flicker up to Blaine’s face to make sure he’s not in pain, that something isn’t happening.

But he looks _content,_ actually, or at least as much as he can in his current state, and so Kurt doesn’t worry about it.

Instead, there’s a million other questions Kurt wants to ask, a million other things he needs to know - what happened, exactly, what Blaine’s injuries are, if he’s in pain, what his recovery will be like, how long he’ll have to be in the hospital.

But for the moment, sitting in the uncomfortable chair and holding Blaine’s hand, he’s relieved.

Relieved that his best friend is here, that he’s okay and that he’s still Blaine.

Relieved that he still has another chance to tell Blaine the truth of how he feels someday, if he ever works up the courage to say it.

Because that’s the other part of it all, of course.

Kurt’s in love with Blaine.

* * *

He doesn’t remember when it happened.

It’s not like there had been a huge moment where Kurt blinked and suddenly _saw_ him for the very first time, nor had there been a spark of electricity the first time their hands brushed - nothing like that. He doesn’t remember falling in love with Blaine. 

Or maybe he’s just been in love with Blaine all along, since their freshman year move-in day, from the very moment he turned around from where he was hanging his _Wicked_ poster above his bed to find Blaine shoving into the room, juggling an overfilled, heavy-looking cardboard box in his hands that obscures most of his face, leaving only his wild, curly hair peeking over the top.

The fact that Kurt remembers the first moment he saw Blaine probably says it all.

And he remembers, too, the moment he decided he and Blaine could never be anything but friends - falling in love hadn’t been a conscious decision, but stopping himself from it had been different.

There had been a Halloween party, and Kurt and Blaine had gone together, dressed as Buzz and Woody, respectively, per Blaine’s idea and subsequent insistence. They had both been drunk, but Blaine had been completely past the point of no return, as good as obliterated, while Kurt had maintained enough coherency to know that when this happened, it was completely and utterly dangerous: 

Blaine stumbling into him in the hallway by the bathroom and _staying_ there, staying close, pulling the cowboy hat off his own head before sloppily slinging it onto Kurt’s, then knocking their foreheads and nudging their noses together and instantly charging the air with an electricity Kurt had never felt before.

Really dangerous.

As tempted as Kurt had been to _do_ it, to say fuck it all and kiss him and kiss him and _kiss_ him and be done with it, they were roommates, and they couldn’t get away from each other if it all went wrong, and Blaine had just- he had felt important right away.

Too important to risk. 

And so Kurt had stepped to the side, and he had righted Blaine with a steady grip on his shoulders, and he had decided.

His friendship with Blaine was too important to jeopardize with a drunken hookup or anything else.

But besides Kurt’s unshakable feelings for Blaine, it’s not like there haven’t been guys - there _have_ been, for both of them. 

They had both upheld an unspoken, mutual respect of one another not to bring any boys back to their shared dorm room, but there had been nights where Blaine wouldn’t come home, and there were a couple nights where Kurt wouldn’t either - few and far between and more unsatisfying than anything else, but it had happened.

And once they moved into an apartment off campus the next year, Kurt had expected that rule to loosen up a bit, but he just- never really brought anyone home, and neither did Blaine.

For Kurt, it’s mostly been because he’s just too busy handling classes and an internship and a job to even _consider_ dating, not when his little time designated for a social life goes towards maintaining the friendships he already has, but he’s been fine with that. 

He’s never been sure what it is for Blaine, but Blaine’s never seemed lonely, either.

Most nights, they end up eating dinner across from each other at their little wobbly kitchen table, plus tucked up on the couch catching up on their favorite shows whenever they have the time for it, laughing and bumping their socked feet together occasionally and just existing together, nothing but comfort in their shared quiet.

And that’s how Kurt likes it.

He thinks, maybe, it’s how Blaine likes it, too. 

* * *

It turns out that Blaine has a solid several days ahead of him in the hospital, mostly due to a nasty concussion and the messy break in his leg. 

Naturally, it means a lot more visits from Kurt - and from Sam, too. 

Sam offers to coordinate visits, to figure out when their schedules overlap so they can head over to the hospital together, but Kurt sort of doesn’t want to, and so he’s also sort of relieved when they try but realize their schedules _don’t_ overlap, not in much of a substantial way at all. 

It might be selfish of him, but sometimes he just likes having Blaine to himself. 

By only his third visit, Kurt has quickly come to love the way Blaine’s eyes light up when he walks into the room, the way the beeping of his heart monitor quickens without fail, just for those first few moments, until Kurt gets settled beside him. 

It’s sweet, really, how happy Blaine gets to see his friends. 

And as Kurt so often does, he can’t help but make a show of his appearances - surprising Blaine with not-yet released issues of _Vogue_ that he snagged from his internship one day, smuggling in a cronut the next. The hospital room is painfully sterile and bare, and as medicated and sleepy as Blaine is, he’s bored, too, and Kurt knows it. 

So he tries to make it better - because he can’t heal Blaine’s broken bones, and he can’t soothe his concussion, but he can cheer Blaine up, and he can provide a little bit of entertainment. 

If there’s something Kurt can do, he’s going to do it, and that’s the end of it. 

Especially when it’s something for Blaine - which is why he’s mostly surprised and a little bit offended when he arrives on the third day, settles in his usual chair, and Blaine turns his head to look at him, watches him carefully for a moment, then speaks. 

“You don’t have to come every day, you know.”

Kurt feels like he’s been knocked over, completely thrown off by it, by the idea that he might have been coming off like he _didn’t_ want to be there, even by the sudden realization that _oh,_ maybe _Blaine_ doesn’t want him there every day.

And in the past few afternoons, Kurt really _has_ already made a nest for himself here, bringing his laptop and his textbooks and chipping away at his homework while Blaine naps or watches TV. He’s been calling for Blaine’s dinners, sending their mutual friends and even Blaine’s mom updates about him, essentially being there in every free moment he has, and he’s never questioned doing it.

But he didn’t question what _Blaine_ actually wanted, either.

“Oh, I- I know I don’t _have_ to, but I thought you’d be lonely here all by yourself,” Kurt frowns, looking away from Blaine in favor of focusing on the wall behind him, unsure. “And I want to be here, anyways, but if you’d rather be alone or something I can just-”

“Kurt,” Blaine interjects, letting out a weak laugh. “You’re rambling.”

He is - and Blaine’s the best one at getting Kurt to realize it and to shut up.

And so Kurt shuts up, blinking at Blaine instead, waiting for some sort of cue to follow.

“I want you to be here,” Blaine insists softly, voice gone somewhat tender, even intimate, if Kurt didn’t know any better. “It’s been the best part of my day. I just… I know you’re busy.”

Kurt can’t help but soften, too, and he also can’t help reaching out, folding his hand over Blaine’s on top of the blankets and giving it a gentle squeeze.

When the beeping of the heart monitor picks up again, Kurt feels like he’s doing something right.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he shrugs, though it comes out more serious, more _meaningful_ than it should - and so he quickly continues, playing it off. “I mean, do you really expect me to watch our shows _alone?”_

That’s better.

“Yeah,” Blaine grins, leaning back further into his pillows and slipping his hand out from under Kurt’s in favor of reaching for the remote. “I should’ve known you couldn’t handle The Crown on your own.”

* * *

Sam calls later that night, once Kurt’s back home and tucked in bed, swiping aimlessly, pointlessly through Tinder - left, left, left. 

He should be freaked out at another phone call from Sam, or at the very least, suspicious, and part of him is - but mostly, he knows he just left Blaine safely tucked in his stiff hospital bed only a couple of hours ago, under the watchful eyes of nurses and doctors. 

Blaine is safe, and so Kurt answers the phone with a steady tap of his thumb and a calm breath. 

“Hi, Sam. What’s going on?”

In typical Sam fashion, he’s gotten himself excited enough over his own idea that he’s practically talking on top of himself, speaking in circles, leaving Kurt winded as he attempts to listen and to follow. 

But, Kurt has to admit, the idea is a good one - Sam wants to throw Blaine a surprise welcome home party once he gets discharged, promises to take care of everything, but he’s calling mostly because he wants to make sure Kurt’s on board...mostly because he wants to hold it in Kurt’s and Blaine’s apartment.

At first, a party sounds exhausting. It sounds like a lot of work that he doesn’t have time for, and it sounds like something Blaine might not have the energy for, and though Kurt nearly begs off and makes excuses, he doesn’t.

Because this is _Blaine,_ and Blaine loves his friends more than anything. They quite literally make his heart race, after all.

And so Kurt agrees, at least as long as the group of them stays on the small side, and he has to pull the phone away from his ear when Sam cheers loud enough that the noise threatens to blow out the phone’s speaker. 

“He’s totally gonna love it,” Sam sighs happily once he settles down, and it’s true - Blaine really will. It’ll make him feel special, and it’s what he deserves, because he is.

He really is.

Kurt just hums in a soft acknowledgement, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m sure he will. And you know,” he adds, unable to help himself. “It’s sweet how excited Blaine always is to see us. His heart monitor speeds up every time, did you notice that?”

“His- his _heart?_ What are you talking about?”

At once, Kurt’s smile falls into more of a furrow-browed frown, and he doubts himself, doubts what he heard. Maybe it hadn’t been anything - maybe Kurt had made it all up in his head, and the beeping of Blaine’s monitor fluctuated coincidentally or not at all.

But no. _No._ He had definitely heard it. He had heard it every time he’d walked in the door to Blaine’s room, and he had heard it whenever he had gotten close, every single time without fail.

He’s heard it. He’s noticed it.

Maybe Sam just hasn’t?

“He’s- Whenever I get there, the beeping speeds up for a few seconds,” he says, as if phrasing it differently will help it make sense. “I-I-I thought he was just- just happy to see his friends. Why would you be any different?”

Or why would _Kurt_ be any different?

“I don’t know what to tell you, man, but that hasn’t happened with me. Not when I’ve gone over there.” Sam huffs a thoughtful breath, and Kurt waits, holding his own. “I mean, are you sure it’s really doing that? Is there some way you can test it out?”

Kurt had been sure - he had been _positive,_ actually, hadn’t thought twice about it because he had just thought it was a cute little quirk, another endearing thing about Blaine to add to the long list, but now he _isn’t_ sure, because he has no idea why it would be happening with him and not with Sam.

And it feels silly to _test_ it, but he wants to. He doesn’t know how, though, and if it keeps happening, he doesn’t know what it could mean. 

“I...I guess I could try,” he decides, head spinning with a thousand thoughts and nothing at all.

“Yeah, dude, um- I mean, I don’t know what’s going on with you guys these days, but he’s pretty much had a thing- Shit, um-“ Sam cuts himself off, clears his throat, and there’s a pause, leaving Kurt equal parts confused and suspicious - and nervous, too. “I actually gotta go, but, uh. I’ll see you later!”

The line goes dead before Kurt can say another word, and he lets the phone fall out of his hand and onto the mattress beside him with a _thud_ as he sighs, blinking into the darkness, up at the ceiling.

None of it makes any sense - not the way Sam abruptly turned so skittish and nervous, not the way Blaine’s heart rate evidently only picks up around Kurt, not any of it.

Or maybe it makes perfect sense, and Kurt just doesn’t want to think about it.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Maybe he just doesn’t want to get hurt.

And so he decides not to think about it.

* * *

Kurt barely sleeps.

He’s too busy thinking about it.

He tries not to - tries _desperately,_ actually, but it’s all nagging at him with enough intensity to take over in the dark quiet of the night, and by the time his eyes are burning with the sleep he can’t find, Kurt ends up powerless to resist it any longer.

If he’s going to test this, he needs data points for reference, and he goes through them again and again in his head, running in circles over every interaction he’s had with Blaine since the accident and even before that - every moment and smile and laugh and conversation and touch that they shared, everything he can remember.

He runs through, too, the way all of it made _him_ feel, and that’s when he realizes.

Ever since they shared a tiny dorm room, Blaine has made Kurt’s palms sweat, made his stomach flip, made his eyes wide and his breath hitch and his blood hot in his veins and, yes, made his heart race.

And it seems so obvious, doesn’t it?

It seems obvious that Blaine’s heart racing isn’t just because of Kurt but because of his _feelings_ for Kurt, but the realization hits Kurt like a tidal wave, and he feels unbalanced and unsettled and set adrift in the pitch black without anything to hold onto, without anything to anchor him.

In so many ways, this is the exact situation he had been trying to avoid for so long, and though his own feelings had never wavered, Kurt has - perhaps foolishly - always thought if he kept them private, kept them hidden, then they wouldn’t exist or have any way of affecting their friendship.

But if Blaine has them, too, after all this time…

Maybe it’s worth something.

Maybe it _isn’t_ dangerous, and maybe it wouldn’t all go wrong, and maybe Blaine is so important because he’s meant for this, because _they_ are meant for this - for _more._

Or maybe it’s nothing.

Maybe it’s nothing, and maybe Kurt is hearing things, and maybe he’s losing his mind entirely.

But he needs to know for sure - and Sam is right.

Kurt needs to test it.

* * *

He knows he can’t do anything crazy.

It has to fill the perfect in-between of being subtle enough that Blaine doesn’t notice he’s acting strange, yet enough of _something_ to be effective, to be different enough to _get_ some sort of result or proof.

In many ways, Kurt feels ridiculous for it. He could just _ask,_ or he could make a move like any normal grown adult, but there’s too much at stake, not enough guaranteed.

This feels like toeing the line of no return without crossing it completely.

After spending the night thinking through and picking apart it all, it seems like, from Kurt’s memory and his potentially deluded hearing, the beeping of Blaine’s heart monitor speeds up when Kurt first arrives, most of all - and it also seems to happen when Kurt touches him, whether it’s in purposeful, functional ways or smaller, fleeting ones. 

It makes sense, really, if this is all happening for the reasons Kurt thinks it’s happening, because that’s when he feels it, too, the flutter in his chest and a gentle swirl in his stomach. 

And so he starts by putting a little more effort into his outfit than usual, picking a close-fitting button down in a blue that brings out his eyes under a vest Blaine has complimented before, wears the skinny pants that make him feel most confident, spends a few extra minutes on his hair and his skincare routine, and it feels like something.

Actually, it feels _good -_ and he isn’t cocky, but he knows he looks it, too. 

The feeling carries him the entire way to the hospital, down the hallway he’s beginning to learn so well even after just a few days, like he’s floating, eager, _ready._

He wonders if he should be more nervous than he is.

But when he steps into the room, it’s like he’s fully _expecting_ to hear the monitor pick up, and then it _does,_ while Blaine perks up, too, lifting himself slightly on his elbows to greet him, smile weary and tired but genuine, and Kurt-

Kurt already feels like he was _right,_ like there’s something to this, like it’s more than a fluke, and, more than that, it’s about _him._

He already feels like giving himself over entirely to the feeling it brings him.

“Hey, you,” is all he says, though, offering Blaine a little wave in an attempt to hold himself back, to stop himself from going too far too soon, regardless of the hope swelling in his chest. “Did I wake you up?”

Blaine shrugs, laying back into the pillows and wincing once he does, letting out a hiss through his teeth as he tries to relax. He looks tense and in pain, and Kurt feels helpless, desperate for a way to make it go away, though he knows he can’t.

“Nope. I was having trouble getting comfortable, honestly,” Blaine sighs, reaching up to rub the less-scraped side of his face. “It’s been a long day.”

“Well, let’s see what we can do.” Kurt checks the clock on the wall, finds Blaine is just inching past the midpoint between his afternoon and evening painkillers according to his whiteboard schedule. “You’re not due for more pain meds for another couple hours.” He frowns sympathetically, stepping over to Blaine’s beside in hopes of doing _something,_ though he isn’t sure what. “Maybe we can watch a movie in the meantime?” 

Any thoughts of the experiment or his feelings or even Blaine’s are tossed by the wayside as Kurt reaches down to tug the blanket up and closer around Blaine, tucking it in around his waist and making sure he’s properly covered, trying to soothe him as much as he can.

But then the beeping speeds up, and a breath hitches in Kurt’s chest as he remembers, hands stilling briefly where his fingers are shoved just barely underneath Blaine’s back where he’s pressing the blanket in, close enough to feel the heat of Blaine’s body through his old Dalton shirt.

He forces himself to snap out of it, drawing a careful inhale as he stands upright, willing his heart to stop pounding even faster than Blaine’s, but it’s hard.

It’s hard to forget what he hopes it all means.

Kurt falls into the chair at Blaine’s bedside, though, and he puts on a smile, and he reaches for the remote, clicking on the TV.

“What are you in the mood for?” he wants to know, voice coming out softer than he truly intended, almost hushed in its tone - but it fits, like the air in the room is thick and important, filled with an energy he doesn’t want to disturb, just in case it’s fragile. 

Blaine turns his head, nuzzling his cheek where it comes to rest against his pillow, eyes already half-lidded, smile already lazy, and all of that fits, too.

_“When Harry Met Sally?”_

It’s a classic for them, one they’ve seen countless times together - they can recite half of the scenes, and Kurt could practically reenact it in his sleep, never grows tired of watching Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal fall all around love and then, finally, fall in it together.

It isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but having Blaine suggest it here, now, with everything Kurt’s mulling over in his head, it feels like- something.

It feels like something.

But he knows he can’t let on about it, can’t let on about the way his stomach is flipping again, about the way he feels like Sally, feels like Blaine might be Harry, feels like they could very well be in the middle of a convoluted story of their very own. 

Not now, at least.

“Okay,” Kurt agrees instead, quickly swallowing down his nerves, taking the remote and queuing it up.

 _When Harry Met Sally_ it is, then.

A while into the movie, Kurt notices Blaine getting restless again, and so he asks him to carefully lift up, allowing Kurt to fluff his pillows before cupping the back of Blaine’s head and easing him down to settle in, more comfortably now.

Right on cue, the beeping quickens again - for longer, this time.

And all throughout it, Kurt makes a point to initiate smaller, seemingly insignificant touches - things like nudging Blaine’s arm at the start of their favorite parts, even holding his hand tight in wordless support when Blaine squeezes his eyes closed and winces at a sharp sudden wave of a headache.

Every time, it happens.

Every time, the monitor responds.

Every time, Kurt feels like his own heart is racing, too, picking up more and more each time, because every ramping up of the pace is more proof, more confirmation, more indication that there truly _is_ something _,_ that maybe-

Maybe.

And every time, Kurt sees a little something different in Blaine’s smile and in the way Blaine looks at him, even in the tone of his voice when he speaks - something a little more intimate, a little more private, a little more personal.

It’s scary, and it’s important, and Kurt wonders if Blaine feels it, too, the way it’s like the air in the room has thickened, shifted.

But regardless of all of that, Kurt pulls all of the feelings inside of him and channels them into courage. It’s not enough courage to do anything huge or to do anything revolutionary, but it’s enough for him to take a chance, once the movie’s ended and Blaine’s fallen asleep and Kurt knows it’s time to head back home.

He pushes up out of his chair and over Blaine, reaches to tuck a stray curl behind his ear in a gentle, delicate motion, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to Blaine’s forehead, lingering for what must only be a moment but what feels like nearly more than he can take.

“Goodnight, Blaine,” he whispers, stomach flipping with nerves and adrenaline, and though Blaine’s heart monitor doesn’t react, Kurt doesn’t need it to.

Not this time.

* * *

As delegated by Sam, the mastermind behind the surprise party operation, Kurt is picking Blaine up from the hospital.

Conveniently, Blaine gets released right on schedule, late Saturday afternoon. He’s nearly on his way to healing, out of the woods with his concussion and settled in his leg cast, but of course, it isn’t over. He’ll still be out of commission for a while, obviously limited in his mobility, though he’ll still be able to sing, and he’ll still be able to play piano, once he feels up for it, since it’s his left leg that’s broken, meaning his right foot is still available to pedal, and his arms and hands are fine.

Small mercies.

He’s got a long way to go, but he’s okay enough to go home, and Kurt thinks he might be even more relieved about that then Blaine himself.

It’s just _strange_ coming home to an empty apartment every night, without the sounds of Blaine shuffling around or constantly humming under his breath or dancing in the kitchen while he cooks.

Kurt misses it- misses _him,_ as silly as it seems.

And he knows things will be different for a while, and living with Blaine will mean pitching in a lot more, taking on more of the chores and doing most of the cooking and even likely helping Blaine move around, but he doesn’t care.

He’ll do it. He’ll do any of it. He just wants Blaine home.

Although Kurt gets dressed up again before heading over to the hospital, the reason is twofold - he wants to test Blaine’s reaction again, of course, but they’re also coming home to a party, and big or small, Kurt Hummel looks his best for parties.

He just hopes Blaine won’t think anything of it, but Kurt’s an actor, after all.

He can pull it off.

When Kurt gets to the hospital, he feels his stomach swirling with light as he walks down Blaine’s hallway, feels his heart fluttering in his chest at the prospect of seeing him, all sensations he’s just beginning to allow himself to acknowledge, though he knows they’ve been there all along - they came hand in hand with meeting Blaine, with knowing him, and they haven’t dulled in the slightest, only intensified since he’s started to _wonder_ again.

He’s smiling when he steps in the doorway, waiting for the telltale beeping of the monitor he’s quickly come to cherish so much-

But he doesn’t hear it.

And Blaine’s not there either, which doesn’t make sense, because Kurt had _told_ him he’d be picking him up at 5 o’clock, right at his approved discharged time, and he’s on time. But what if something had happened, if Blaine had fallen or- or-

“Oh, hey! You’re here!”

Kurt inhales sharply, snapping himself out of his thoughts only to find Blaine being wheeled out of his bathroom by a nurse, hair curly and damp, positively beaming at Kurt with the widest smile he’s offered since the accident, making Kurt feel like he’s the only person in the room, in the building, in the _world._

And that’s a thousand times better than any heart monitor.

“I wondered where you were,” Kurt says, voice coming out shakier than he’d hoped, exposing his nerves that feel so foolish now. “I was getting worried I wouldn’t be able to bust you out of here after all.”

Blaine shakes his head, grinning impossibly wider, his eyes sparkling and crinkling at the corners.

“No, I was just getting all spruced up,” he shrugs, letting out a bark of a laugh as he gestures to his outfit - cut-off sweatpants that Kurt had brought him the day before after hurriedly hemming them into easy-wear shorts as fashionably as possible, a close-fitting, short sleeved polo shirt exposing skin still littered in scrapes and bruises, even a bowtie, silly and patterned, one of Kurt’s secret favorites.

He looks incredible.

“You look great,” he breathes out despite himself, thrilling at the way Blaine blushes in response, ducks his head, laughs softly, shyly. 

When Blaine lifts his head up again, his eyes are shining, sweet and warm, and Kurt feels his stomach twist at the near purity of his expression, as if he knows now what Blaine looked like as a child, young and exuberant and tethered to nothing on the planet.

“You do, too,” Blaine says, making Kurt preen at the compliment and at the look on his face, too, schooling himself well enough to do a little pose, showing off his outfit.

Confidence. Kurt can always do confidence without fail, even feign it if he has to, even when everything inside of him is quickly filling to bursting with butterflies, threatening to fly away entirely.

But the butterflies capture his voice, and he has nothing left to say as he rights his posture again, feels frozen in the moment under Blaine’s gentle gaze - Blaine’s gaze, which is unwavering, more _himself_ than Kurt’s seen him since it happened.

They go quiet. 

“Well, he’s good to go,” the nurse interjects after it’s gone on a little too long, her voice strangely loud and stilted to Kurt’s ears - though when he looks at her, she’s smiling kindly, knowingly, like she has a secret that Kurt somehow feels involves him, even though he doesn’t know a single thing about her. “We’ll check in in a couple days.”

And that’s it - Blaine’s released, well enough to go home, expected to make a full recovery, as soon as his breaks heal and he can get back on his feet.

He’s ready to go, and so Kurt steps behind his wheelchair to grab hold of the handles, ready, too, to take him home.

* * *

The thing about spending all of his free time with Blaine in the hospital is that Kurt really, truly has relinquished every bit of control over the surprise party planning.

To Sam.

Kurt has fully allowed Sam to plan an entire party, meant to be held in Kurt and Blaine’s cramped apartment, a fact that doesn’t quite hit him until halfway through the cab ride back from the hospital, when he remembers to let Sam know that they’re on their way, per his instructions.

He wants to freak out.

He’s on the verge of it, actually, feels the tension building in his body - his veins, muscles, head to toe, but he takes one look over at Blaine, whose head is resting against the cab window, and he knows he can’t.

However this party goes, as much as an ostentatious trainwreck it inevitably turns out to be, this is all for Blaine, and Blaine will love it, because Blaine _loves_ ostentatious, he loves being the center of attention, loves goofing around and being silly the exact same way Sam does, regardless of whether or not Kurt understands it.

Which - he doesn’t.

But Blaine does, and that’s what matters. Because after everything Blaine has gone through in the days since the accident, he’s kept a smile on his face, even through the pain and the boredom and the headaches and through the frustrating logistics of not only getting a wheelchair-accessible cab but getting him _inside._

He’s incredible, and if anything, Kurt’s fallen _more_ in love with him during their time spent back in that hospital room, something he’d been unsure could even be possible, something he still isn’t sure he wants.

Even still, it’s the love in every fiber of Kurt’s being that keeps him sane, that propels him as he pays for the cab, helps Blaine out, pushes him to the elevator, then down the hallway to their apartment.

And this is it.

“Home sweet home,” Blaine murmurs, voice wavering with a slight tremble that Kurt assumes is relief more than anything else, and Kurt reaches to give Blaine’s shoulder a gentle squeeze of reassurance before pulling the key out of his bag.

And then Kurt draws in a breath, unlocks the door, pushes it open, and expects the worst.

He expects noise, a huge outburst of cheering and whooping and clapping, shitty alcohol and junk food and probably one of Sam’s horrible playlists and _god_ knows what else.

But Kurt pushes the door open, and there’s nothing.

It’s quiet.

He braces himself, ready for everyone to jump out, ready for everyone to come out of hiding, but the moment doesn’t come.

It stays quiet, and it stays still - but Kurt can’t let on that he’s confused because then Blaine will _wonder,_ and Kurt will have to tell him that their friends evidently _changed their mind_ about throwing him a party, even after all he’s been through, and what kind of welcome home is _that?_

A shitty one. A depressing one.

One Kurt isn’t willing to give.

But then he steers Blaine’s wheelchair fully inside, finally taking a breath and realizing all at once that there _isn’t_ nothing, not at all.

In fact, their little old dining table is covered with a deep maroon cloth, set with plates and silverware and wine glasses, two of everything but with one chair removed, a bottle of white nestled in a container of ice in the center though Blaine can’t even drink it, candles lit with flames flickering gently, illuminating the space with just enough of a glow. 

And he can smell, too, the aroma of what he knows, unmistakably, is takeout from their favorite hole-in-the-wall Italian place - garlic, herbs, tomato, just like what they always get, chicken parmesan for Blaine, eggplant for Kurt.

It feels like home, smells like home, _looks_ like home, but it’s all wrong.

There’s supposed to be a party.

Not this. Not whatever this is.

“What-” Kurt begins, though the question falls dead in his throat. He doesn’t know what to ask, doesn’t know where to begin, has no idea what’s going on.

But then Blaine turns in his chair the best he can, craning his neck to look back and up at Kurt, and he doesn’t look surprised at all.

He looks - nervous, maybe, or excited, even both, plus tired, warm in the same sweet, syrupy way as back in his hospital room, but he doesn’t look surprised.

“I know it’s a little early for dinner,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “But… Will you eat with me?”

Kurt isn’t hungry.

He doesn’t feel like he can _think,_ let alone move or eat or even breathe.

But this is Blaine, and this is something that _Blaine_ has clearly planned, not Sam, and so Kurt says yes.

* * *

It’s romantic - clearly, transparently, under no uncertain terms.

In fact, it’s the _most_ romantic thing Kurt has ever had done for him, and his insides feel more melted and warm than the liquidy wax pooling in the candles arranging on the table between them, their flickering light making Blaine’s face glow in little bursts.

Kurt nearly can’t look away. 

But he makes himself, because he isn’t positive his unrelenting gaze would be welcome, isn’t sure he’ll be able to pull himself out of it if he allows his eyes to go heavy the way they’re longing to, keeping Blaine at the focus of it all with the very world around him going fuzzy and unimportant.

He’s on the cusp of it regardless, hyper aware of the beating of his heart, missing the steady and the quickening beeps of Blaine’s, telling in their rhythm.

Kurt feels like he’s adrift without the aural anchor of the monitor, stumbling blindly as he tries to find his way through somewhere that nearly feels like home but _isn’t,_ slightly ajar and uncertain and unfamiliar, just enough to throw him.

He doesn’t know what’s going on with Blaine’s heart anymore, has no idea what’s in his head, either, and it doesn’t help that Blaine is uncharacteristically quiet, picking at his food with a bit of a dazed look on his face whenever Kurt chances a look at him.

Maybe it's the painkillers.

As touched as Kurt is by the surprise and the display and the set-up, he’s even more _confused,_ and maybe he knows in the back of his mind what it means, but he needs to hear it.

He needs to know for sure - because he can’t mess up.

Not with Blaine.

And the quiet and the candlelight and the little glances are all adding to Kurt’s impatience, over and over and over again, building and building with every bite of pasta and with every little smile on Blaine’s face when they lock eyes, and until Kurt can’t take another forkful or another glance or another breath, and his willpower snaps.

He bursts.

“What- Blaine, what is all of this for?”

His voice comes out merely a whisper from the edge of desperate, but he sounds like he’s pleading all the same, and - well - he is.

Strangely, when his eyes find Kurt’s, _Blaine_ looks nearly desperate, too, his eyes instantly a little brighter, cheeks seemingly a little redder.

Kurt watches with bated breath as Blaine slowly sets his fork down, blots his mouth with his napkin, and inhales slowly, exhales with even more of a drag.

“Do you mind- Can we talk over on the couch?” Blaine asks, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck in a nervous motion Kurt came to understand and to recognize long ago. “If you’re done, I mean…”

“I’m done,” Kurt says in a rush of an exhale, 

Getting Blaine settled on the couch takes a few long, involved minutes, requiring enough complicated maneuvering so that Kurt is more focused on keeping Blaine safe and out of pain than he is on the fact that he spends a very real moment holding Blaine in his arms, with Blaine’s wrapped around Kurt’s neck, until he’s up and out of the chair, eased down into the couch cushions, casted leg propped up atop pillows on their coffee table.

“Thank you,” Blaine murmurs so quietly that Kurt isn’t sure he said it at all, but he gives Blaine’s shoulder a gentle squeeze all the same as he takes a seat on the couch himself, finally convinced Blaine is comfortable enough - for the moment, at least.

They both know that this is only the beginning of several long weeks of helping Blaine get around, helping him get comfortable and get up and move from room to room, and though Kurt doesn’t mind it in the slightest, would prefer doing it himself over allowing anyone else, it adds another level of weight to all of it.

Another level of risk, too.

Because this adds yet another, albeit temporary, layer to their relationship: Kurt is Blaine’s best friend, his roommate, and now his caretaker, too, adding a degree of dependency to the mix. It’s another layer to slice through and to organize and to protect, if all of this goes where Kurt is equal parts excited and terrified for it to go.

He hopes, he fears.

He wants- He _wants._

Wants to allow this for himself, allow it for _them,_ wants to try, wants to take a risk and take a leap and give it his all, wants to put his own heart on the line for the boy whose heartbeat breathes life into _both_ of them.

And suddenly, Kurt feels ready to do it, ready to tell Blaine how he feels and cup his face in his hands and kiss him the way he’s wanted to do since their move-in day in their ridiculously tiny freshman dorm, in all the other ways he’s wanted to since.

But Blaine speaks first.

“What happened… It was- It was really scary,” he begins in a quiet admittance, rubbing his own arm up and down, seemingly in an attempt to soothe himself. “I just… I realized right away that I’m lucky it wasn’t worse. And I’ve spent so much time holding myself back, trying to be smart and practical and _logical,_ and I- I can’t hold myself back anymore, Kurt.”

“What… What were you holding yourself back from?” Kurt wants to know, _needs_ to know, feeling like his heart isn’t beating, like his chest can’t heave a breath. 

Not until he has an answer. 

Slowly, but in a sure, steady movement, Blaine reaches out, placing a hand on Kurt’s knee, and Kurt feels the warmth from his palm through the fabric of his pants, feels it spread up his leg and through the whole of his body and settle in his bones, as if he instinctively knows that this won’t be the only touch, that this won’t be the extent of what they share here and now. 

“The first person I wanted to see was you,” Blaine says softly, locking eyes with Kurt and holding the gaze, intense and honest and sheer liquid gold. “It was _you,_ and I… I don’t want to keep pushing my feelings away. I don’t think I _can.”_

It’s happening- It’s so _close_ to happening, and Kurt feels his body buzzing with it, the anticipation and the wanting of years, all built up and led to this moment, _almost._

But Blaine doesn’t move, doesn’t speak again, like they’re entering a strange sort of stalemate, each waiting for the other to make the next move. 

“Your feelings?” Kurt prompts, toeing the line as much as he can bear, still craving the _words,_ knowing in his gut that Blaine will give them to him. 

“I’m _crazy_ about you, Kurt,” Blaine says with a shaky, awe-filled laugh, becoming visibly less and less settled by the second. “I-I’ve _been_ crazy about you ever since- well, I can’t remember when I wasn’t, actually.”

_Oh._

_God,_ that’s _it._ That’s _it._

It’s the answer, it’s the proof, it’s the culmination of everything Kurt craved hearing for so long, in quiet, vulnerable nights for years and all the time, more recently. It’s the sound of the heart rate monitor spoken into words, a steadfast confirmation, justification of Kurt’s every thought and feeling and hope and wish.

But Blaine looks nearly unhinged, less confident than ever, as if Kurt’s already rejected him, when Kurt really hasn’t had the chance or the cognition to move or to speak at all.

“Blaine, I-”

“No, I know. I get it,” Blaine cuts in, blocking Kurt’s efforts and quickly shaking his head, ducking it. “The roommate thing- it’s messy, and it’s why I tried to block it all out in the first place, and now we have such a solid friendship, a-and I didn’t want to risk losing you, but… I had to tell you. I-I can’t keep just- _living_ and acting like I don’t have feelings for you, and you were so sweet in the hospital, and I’m sorry if that makes it weird, but-”

And finally, Kurt has heard enough.

In fact, he’s heard _more_ than enough - he’s been waiting, waiting, _waiting_ for Blaine to kiss him ever since he saw the candles sitting on the table, to take the final step, but Blaine just keeps _talking,_ rambling with no end in sight, and so Kurt takes matters into his own hands.

He sits up, reaches for Blaine, cuts him off mid-sentence, and does it himself.

As if they’ve been here a thousand times before, Kurt’s fingers instantly twine their way into the curls at the back of Blaine’s head, and Blaine’s hands instantly find Kurt’s hips, and their mouths slot together with a rightness that makes him shiver in the full length of his body, overcome at once.

It doesn’t feel like a first kiss - it feels like coming back to something Kurt’s always known after a long time away, deep and intimate from the start, passionate in the way it makes the blood course hot through his veins and makes his toes curl in his shoes, yet slow and languid in its physical movement, entirely unhurried.

Entirely perfect.

Kurt gets lost in it as soon as he feels Blaine sink into it, too, adrift in the feeling of Blaine’s soft, pliant mouth and in his gentle yet insistent movements, tongue swiping against Kurt’s lower lip before dipping inside, teeth grazing before sucking slowly at each lip in turn, drawing a shaken noise from the back of his throat. By the time they break apart with a quiet, wet smack, Blaine has worked Kurt’s shirt free from where it had been tucked into his pants, and Kurt wonders when all of this happened, how Blaine managed to right himself and to take control of it all without Kurt even noticing.

He doesn’t know, _won’t_ ever know - all he knows is that this single suspended moment is better than anything he could have imagined, could have hoped for, and it’s worth holding onto and fighting for, worth making this work even though they’re best friends, even though they live together, even though he’s signed himself up to care for Blaine until he’s healed again.

Although he knows one other thing, too, and it’s this:

“I am _so_ incredibly head over heels for you, Blaine Anderson. In case that wasn’t already clear.” He punctuates it with another slow, gentle kiss, pulls back just enough, allows his eyes to flutter open to find Blaine positively beaming at him, so close in his proximity that all Kurt can _see_ is gold and honey and amber and light, swirling, warmth, intoxicating.

“I think I’m starting to get the gist,” Blaine says with a smile that’s more relaxed and carefree than Kurt’s seen from him since the accident - he looks _giddy,_ even, exactly how Kurt feels.

It seems like it’s all falling into place, organic and easy as breathing, like the natural next step in the progression of their friendship - roommates, to best friends, to _more -_ and Kurt simply isn’t afraid anymore.

But there’s one last thing.

“That doesn’t explain what all of this was,” he murmurs with a slow, easy grin, nudging their noses together playfully, teasingly, though he truly does want to know.

“Mm. I asked Sam to help me surprise you,” Blaine explains, running his hands up and down Kurt’s sides, underneath his shirt, palms heavy and wide and warm on his bare skin. “The fake party was his idea, actually. He was pretty proud of that one.”

“I’m sure he was.” Kurt huffs a quiet laugh, pecking a brief pattern of soft kisses to Blaine’s lips, to the corners of his mouth, just because he can. “You didn’t have to do that, though.”

“I wanted to.” It’s so simple, the way Blaine says it, as if it’s nothing, as if it didn’t require orchestration and secrecy and a stroke of oddly-good acting skills from Sam. “You’re… After everything you’ve already done, I...I just wanted to make you feel special.”

And there’s the unspoken future of it, too, of what Kurt will continue to do as Blaine recovers from the accident. It’s the extra chores, the lifting, the moving, the cooking and cleaning. It’s the inevitability of getting frustrated and annoyed with each other, smothering one another, likely culminating in Blaine pushing himself too far too fast in the face of Kurt being a little too doting.

It won’t be easy, but Kurt will do it without question.

And he knows Blaine will make him feel special all the while, too.

“It’s working,” Kurt murmurs in acknowledgement, leaning in to press one more kiss to Blaine’s mouth before pulling away, looking at him carefully as he remembers the circumstances of how they’ve gotten here, where they’ve been, where they’re going. “Speaking of- Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

Blaine looks comfortable and relaxed enough, still smiling, body not in a particularly contorted position of any kind, but Kurt still needs to check.

At the questions, Blaine’s smile only widens, and he slides his hands out from under Kurt’s shirt, only to reach for him, grab hold of him wherever his touch lands, pulling on him gently but insistently.

“Cuddle with me?” he asks, eyes dramatically pleading and irresistibly sweet, and Kurt _desperately_ wants to, nearly moves to lay on top of Blaine without thinking, but-

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“No, no. You won’t. I promise,” Blaine insists, giving him another gentle tug - except this time, Kurt goes, curling himself carefully into Blaine’s side, resting his head tenderly on his chest.

Eyes fluttering closed, Kurt allows himself to relax once he’s convinced they’re both comfortable, focusing on the feeling of Blaine’s fingers running through his hair, on the feeling of the rise and fall of Blaine’s stomach that comes with every breath, under Kurt’s palm-

And of the sound of Blaine’s heartbeat right in his ear, quick and light and fluttery, straight from the source, undeniable proof that Kurt had been right all along.

Kurt _does_ make Blaine’s heart race.

But Blaine doesn’t need to know about the monitor and the beeping and the rest of it, and so Kurt won’t tell him, won’t expose him - at least, not for now.

It’s mutual, after all.

And apparently it always has been.


End file.
